Harry and Draco's Excellent Adventure
by Froody
Summary: "Despite the wretched pounding in his head and the fact that he was about to be burnt alive, Harry found it within himself to have a snigger at Malfoy's expense." - The boys use a Time-Turner to avoid failing History of Magic, with most excellent results!
1. Part the First

**A/N: Very loosely based on **_**Bill and Ted's Excellent Adventure**_**, a most bodacious movie. **

**NOTE: This story used to be a one-shot, but I've divided it into three chapters for ease of reading. Be excellent to each other - and please let me know if you like it!**

* * *

Harry trudged down the umpteenth aisle, trailing a finger along book spines and barely noticing as they growled and shivered in turn. Madam Pince had been helpful enough, giving him painfully precise coordinates for the books he was looking for; trouble was, Harry was in no hurry at all to begin reading.

Buried in thoughts of imminent scholarly doom, Harry was caught quite off guard when a cackling poltergeist swooped right at his head with fiendish glee. Saved only by his Seeker's reflexes, Harry crashed to the floor and skidded around to glare at Peeves' rapidly departing form, heart pounding in his chest.

"And I thought my day couldn't get better," he muttered to himself, climbing back to his feet and brushing a thick film of dust from his robes.

"Oh, it can, Potter. You've seen nothing yet."

Harry's head snapped around. There in the shadow of a towering bookshelf squatted none other than Draco Malfoy, scowling down at a shelf-load of books scattered wide across the floor. Harry had never seen a Malfoy so close to the ground; it made a rather pleasing portrait. As Harry watched, biting back a retort in the name of unfortunately necessary diplomacy, Malfoy pinched the cover of one yellowing volume between two fingers and flipped it open.

"Read that," Malfoy ordered, thrusting the book upwards into the perpetual library twilight.

Harry leaned forward and examined the page. Nonplussed, he looked back to Malfoy and shrugged. "I can't. It's all – black."

With a hiss of annoyance, Malfoy snapped the book shut. "Exactly."

Harry had the distinct impression that Malfoy thought he was an idiot – and, while this wasn't exactly an unusual circumstance, Harry didn't much care for it. His heart was still racing from his brief encounter with Peeves, and he had been asked to read an unreadable book, and Malfoy was being his normal sodding superior self. All in all, Harry was beginning to feel distinctly irritated.

"What are you mucking about with that for, anyway?" Harry asked shortly, using his trainer to poke at the books that littered the floor. "We're meant to be studying, remember? Or do you want to fail?"

Malfoy, who had climbed languidly to his feet, snorted. "I'm touched by your concern, Potter." From the sneer on his face, Harry deduced that Malfoy had been touched in an unsolicited manner.

"I can't fail History of Magic," said Harry, still annoyed and still confused. "They won't accept me into the Auror training programme if I don't get at least an E."

Apparently defeating the Dark Lord wasn't enough to prove one's worth to the Auror Entrance Examiners. A detailed knowledge of magic through the ages was clearly more relevant to the Auror course than supreme duelling skills.

"Should've thought about that while you snored through Binns' lessons."

Harry rolled his eyes. "You can talk. There's a reason we've been forced to do this extra-credit project together, Malfoy."

Malfoy's smirk slipped away to be immediately replaced by a scowl. "It's hard to care much about goblin rebellions after what we've seen," he muttered, more to the floor than to Harry, and Harry was startled to find himself in complete agreement. He nodded slowly before breaking into a reluctant smile.

"It was hard to care about them before we'd seen it, to be honest."

Malfoy snorted, obviously caught off guard, and Harry grinned back at him for the split second before he remembered who he was talking to.

"Forgetting your pathetic inability to concentrate in class," said Malfoy, clearing his throat and fixing a scowl back on his face, "the fact is that we're both going to fail History of Magic, and there's nothing we can do about it."

Harry tightened his jaw, any urge to smile utterly Disapparated. "Don't be a git, Malfoy. We have to complete this project together if we're going to have any chance of passing."

"It's a pity, then," snapped Malfoy, shaking the book in Harry's face, "that every single page of every single relevant textbook in this entire bloody library is coated with Contagious Ink."

Harry snatched the book from Malfoy's hand, his stomach experiencing an unpleasant sinking feeling. He flicked through page after ink-stained page, entirely unable to read a single word. In fact, he hadn't seen so much ink on a book since Second Year. The sinking feeling disappeared, and was replaced by genuine panic-tinged nausea.

"What did you –" he began angrily, flinging the book aside and glaring up, but Malfoy was already shaking his head, a supreme look of told-you-so on his hateful, pointed face.

"It wasn't me, Potty, it was Peeves. Like I'd give a Knut to Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes. Or, you know, deliberately get myself disinherited by failing History of Magic."

Now that he thought about it, Harry remembered having caught a glimpse of an inkbottle-shaped object shoved under Peeves' arm as he whizzed gleefully out of the library. He swore, and kicked a stack of useless, ink-stained books across the floor.

"Exactly," said Malfoy, throwing up his hands and beginning to pace up and down the aisle. "We're finished, Potter. Done. All because of your useless skiving in class. We've no chance at all on Binns' stupid project."

Harry wheeled around and glared. "_My _skiving? What about you, Malfoy? You must have hung on Binns' words all year; that must be why you're failing."

"At least I tried!" Malfoy yelled, stopping in his paces and turning to Harry with fists clenched at his sides. "Do you think I could concentrate with, with you, and, with everything –"

"_Nobody_ can concentrate, Malfoy! History of Magic is _boring_. You just can't admit that you, like the rest of the world, drift off every time Binns opens his gob!"

The colour had risen in Malfoy's face, red spilling up his neck and staining the normal pallor of his cheeks. Harry found himself gripping his wand in front of him before he'd made any conscious decision to reach for it. For a split second, Malfoy's eyes dropped to the wand, and his mouth tightened with resolve as he looked back up.

"This is all your fault, Potter," he hissed, spitting out his words as he stalked fearlessly forward through scattered books. Harry's hand was steady as Malfoy stopped a foot away, wandtip mere centimetres from the pilled green wool of Malfoy's jumper.

"Go on," Malfoy breathed, grey eyes like slits, glistening in challenge. "You've done it before. You could even use the same spell – unless it'd be too _boring_ for you."

Feeling sorely tempted, Harry glared right back, but before he could so much as jab Malfoy at this convenient close-range, he was swooped upon for the second time in as many minutes.

Malfoy's mouth fell open as Harry yelled in surprise; argument forgotten, they stepped away from each other and stared at the tiny owl as it began dragging its parcel along the floor towards them.

It was already too late to save the package from the little pools of ink that were splattered across the ground, but Malfoy bent and retrieved it before the owl toppled over and drowned.

"This must be yours, Potter," he said with obvious distaste, but Harry shook his head and pointed at a scrap of paper that had been tied to the parcel.

"Look, it's addressed to both of us. Do you recognise the handwriting?"

Malfoy raised the parcel to his eyes, a frown creasing his forehead. "It looks familiar, but I'm not sure. Who'd send something to both of us?"

"_Use this for your history project_," Harry read over Malfoy's shoulder. "Whoever it was, they didn't sign their name." He glanced at Malfoy; Malfoy glanced back, and they shrugged simultaneously.

"If it helps us pass, I don't care who it's from," said Malfoy decidedly, and once again, Harry found himself nodding along to one of the people he most thoroughly despised in the world. Admittedly, the list had been rather shortened in light of recent obituaries, but still, Harry would never have imagined himself to find any sort of accord with Draco Malfoy. He frowned, then gave himself a shake and watched as Malfoy unwrapped the little parcel. Next moment, a delicate golden chain unravelled across Malfoy's palm, and then came –

Harry leaned forward. "A Time-Turner," he said slowly, a hint of a question in his voice. He hadn't seen one since Fifth Year at the Ministry, and he could have sworn Hermione had said the whole stock had been destroyed during the event. Still, the hourglass pendant nestled in Malfoy's hand was unmistakably a Time-Turner – and Harry had a rather fishy feeling about it all. Incredibly valuable magical objects didn't tend to be sent in timely fashion by anonymous post – not since Dumbledore's death, in any case.

Malfoy didn't appear to share any such concerns. His entire face was glowing in excitement and wonder. "Merlin," he breathed, palm quivering visibly as he gazed at the Time-Turner.

Harry shrugged irritably, watching as the tiny owl buzzed off towards the dim library horizon. "Surely you've seen one of those before," he said, more interested in who had sent them the thing in the first place. Was it cursed? If one thing was certain, it was that Harry had made a spectacular number of personal enemies over the years – almost as many as Malfoy, in fact.

Malfoy snapped about, positively whirring in excitement. "Of course I have," he said scornfully – but his voice was pitched at a higher key than scorn generally required. Harry stared as Malfoy rolled his eyes and thrust the parcel wrappings towards him.

"Read it, Potter! 'Use this for your history project.' _Use_ it, that's what it says!"

"I don't know what you've been using, Malfoy," Harry muttered as Malfoy beamed down at the little gold chain clutched in his hand. "How exactly are we supposed to use a Time-Turner to write twelve feet of parchment on the three most pivotal historical wizards in all of time?"

Malfoy's smile faded. After a pensive moment, he looked up from the Time-Turner and jabbed a triumphant finger at Harry. "We'll collect them. We'll use the Time-Turner to go back in time and pick up wizards – just for a few hours, just enough time to get the right information – and then we'll take them back. Simple."

"Simple," Harry echoed dryly, "except for the little fact that Time-Turners don't work like that – they just take you back in time. They don't take you to _people_, or places."

Malfoy raised a disdainful eyebrow. "Says who?"

Harry blinked and frowned. Now that he thought about it, nobody had ever specifically told him that Time-Turners were restricted to linear time travel. "So what?" he said finally. "You just close your eyes, tap your heels together three times and think about where you want to go?"

"And press the button."

"What button?"

Malfoy smirked and pointed to a small silver button on the side of the Time-Turner that Harry hadn't noticed before.

"I don't know about this," said Harry, who could well imagine McGonagall's response to such a plan. He sighed, torn apart by temptation and the inevitable punishment that would follow Malfoy's method. "We could do unalterable damage to the past."

Malfoy sniffed, obviously quite unaffected. "You could do unalterable damage to me if you refuse, Potter. Do you have any idea how many Galleons I stand to lose if I fail History of Magic?"

Before Harry could do more than roll his eyes, a shriek rent the musty air apart. The boys froze where they stood. Terrified, they stared at each other as the unmistakable sound of Madam Pince grew louder, her outrage increasingly imminent. She must have sensed some literary disarray in her library; Harry shuddered to think what she'd do when she saw the state of the history aisle.

Malfoy's eyes slipped down to the Time-Turner; Harry shook his head frantically. Even as Harry mouthed a furious 'no', Malfoy slung the chain around his neck. Harry groaned and raced forward, joining Malfoy beneath the necklace.

"She'd think we did it," Harry told himself, attempting to justify the historical damage that would unquestionably result from their use of the Time-Turner. "We'd be killed."

Pressed against Harry's left side, Malfoy nodded with wide eyes. "Whatever you say, Potter. Where are we going first?"

Harry hesitated, racking his brains for a name, any name from his History of Magic studies over the years, and finding nothing but flies and bits of fluff. Malfoy's eyes had drifted to the ceiling, obviously engaged in the same task, and it was at the last possible moment that he burst out with, "Urg the Unclean!"

There was no time to argue, so Harry grabbed the hourglass pendant and flicked it between his fingers, sending it spinning over and over until it became nothing more than a blur. He had no idea if this would work, but they had to try, lest they become victims of a librarian's terrible ire.

"Think 'Urg the Unclean,'" he instructed Malfoy, and then shut his eyes as they both went spinning away into darkness, everything blurring like the hourglass as they escaped into ancient history.

* * *

"Blurg," said Harry as he awoke to find himself facedown in the mud with a distinct attack of nausea. "Eurgh. Urg."

"Potter." A familiar voice broke through the ringing in Harry's ears, and he grimaced. The voice was unpleasant, impatient – it would want to get him up next. He decided to ignore it.

"Potter! Get up, you useless prat."

"Urg," Harry protested, but his eyes burst open when a pair of hands fastened roughly around his shoulders and hauled him over to his back. Head spinning, he stared up at the night sky and wondered how long he'd been out cold. And then realisation struck like a rogue Bludger, and his mind snapped back to the present.

"Malfoy!" Harry cried out in alarm; he raised himself to his elbows only to be pinned back down by a pair of swarthy goblins.

"Over here," called a dry voice, and Harry wrenched his head around to see Malfoy standing a mere five feet away, hands tied behind his back. He was surrounded by a host of hostile goblins, each and every one of them armed to the teeth. Malfoy seemed unharmed, if a touch paler than normal, but Harry barely had time to look before he was pulled forcibly to his feet.

As a particularly ugly rope-bearing goblin approached, Harry's hand flew to his neck. He exhaled; the Time-Turner was still there, swinging calmly down at the end of its chain. Malfoy winked pointedly as Harry's hands were bound, and for once Harry found himself grateful for that infamous Slytherin cunning. Unfortunately, however, it seemed that his one chance to reach for his wand had been wasted.

"Who are you?" a voice barked from below, and all at once Harry was assaulted by a truly dreadful stench. His eyes watered and his lungs burned; he hadn't smelled anything this pungent since the summer before last, when he'd been forced to wash Dudley's week-old pants. Wheezing, Harry wished he could reach for a hanky, a Muggle gas mask, anything at all – but instead, he was forced to stand there and endure the stink as the goblin awaited an answer.

"I'm Harry," he gasped, nausea clawing fitfully at his stomach, "Harry Potter. Please let me go, I've nothing much against goblins." This wasn't strictly true – there was the question of a sword, after all – but a spot of diplomacy surely couldn't go astray.

"You were speaking Gobbledegook," accused the goblin, prodding a bemused Harry in the chest with one bony, filth-encrusted finger. "You spoke the name of Urg. Why?"

Harry opened and shut his mouth for a minute, completely at a loss. To the best of his knowledge, he'd never said a word of Gobbledegook in his life. Could this be another unknown linguistic talent courtesy of Voldemort?

From the side, he saw a brief, irritated movement from Malfoy, almost as if he'd tried to throw his hands in the air. "You were babbling when you woke up, Potter," he hissed, then squealed as a goblin stamped on his toe.

"Oh," said Harry with a start. "Yeah, I wanted to see Urg. To, er, to ask how things were getting along," he continued, gaining confidence as the goblins murmured amongst themselves. "With the rebellion, and all."

It wasn't even a lie. There was the report to think of, after all.

"Silence," Harry's goblin ordered, and his comrades fell silent, their eyes glistening black in the surrounding dark. Harry swallowed as the goblin turned back to face him – or rather, to glare up at him from below.

"I am Urg the Unclean," he said proudly, raising his scrawny arms to receive a bellowing cheer from his band of goblins. Harry recoiled at the sudden increase in pong; whatever year it was that they'd arrived in, deodorant potions clearly hadn't been invented.

"Er, yes, I can see that," said Harry, trying and failing to hold his breath. He could hear Malfoy choking, and felt oddly comforted by the thought.

The goblin lowered his arms, cutting off the roar, and stared beadily up at Harry. "I do not know you, Harry Potter. I do not know any wizard who would seek out a goblin."

"There's a first time for everything, right?" said Harry with an attempt at a grin; Malfoy sighed gustily from the sidelines, clearly unimpressed.

Urg appeared to share this uncharitable attitude. "You will die, Harry Potter," he stated in a gravelly, portentous voice, and while Harry could have rolled his eyes at the magical world's severe lack of creativity, he was too distracted by the sound of Malfoy's panicked voice.

"Let me go, you filthy goblins! Get your hands off me!"

"Shut up, Malfoy!" Harry yelled, having spent quite enough time in the company of goblins to know that they didn't take kindly to being insulted. Sure enough, these particular affronted goblins wasted no time in binding Harry and Malfoy by the hands and feet, shuffling them off through the woods without further discussion.

After a few minutes, Harry looked up from the treacherous path and realised that he knew where – if not when, exactly – he was. The trees were thinning out before them, and wavering candlelight shone out beyond. Harry could easily picture what lay ahead, and felt almost cheered at the thought that he was being led into the village of Hogsmeade, home of Zonko's and Honeydukes and Madam Puddifoot's stupid little teashop.

As the outlines of those familiar buildings emerged from the gloom, Harry was fascinated to see that they looked mostly identical to their twentieth century counterparts. Honeydukes may have featured a few more blood-flavoured lollipops in its window front, and most of the shops were boarded up, but by and large, Hogsmeade appeared timeless.

Harry nearly tripped over his bound feet as Urg halted the company outside the Three Broomsticks.

"Prisoners inside," he ordered; Harry and Malfoy were given no opportunity to protest before they were jostled through the door and tied back-to-back around the leg of a table. Urg's rope-bearing henchgoblin grinned nastily before delivering a kick to Harry's stomach. Malfoy yelled; Harry gritted his teeth and bore the pain in silence.

As soon as the door slammed behind the last goblin, Harry began writhing about in an attempt to reach for his wand, panting and straining as Malfoy sat and watched the opposite wall. Minutes went past before Harry finally slackened in his ropes, leaning back against the table leg.

"What, is that all?" asked Malfoy with a sneer. "Is that the best that the hero of the wizarding world can offer?"

Harry gritted his teeth and yanked the ropes hard so that Malfoy was jolted back against the other side of the table leg. "By all means, show me how it's done," he said in as calm a voice as he could manage. "Or maybe we should just sit back and enjoy our last few moments of life."

Malfoy moaned, clearly imagining his imminent fate at the hands of bloodthirsty goblins.

Harry shifted about in an attempt to alleviate the pressure of the ropes around his wrists; when that effort failed, he craned his neck and glared in Malfoy's general direction.

"Urg the Unclean?" he asked with a scowl. "Is that the best you could come up with, Malfoy? Not exactly the most pivotal _wizard_ in history, is he?"

From the opposite side of the table leg, Malfoy shifted about, causing the ropes to dig into Harry's ribs. "Lay off, Potter," he growled, his pride clearly wounded. "It's not like you were coming out with any better ideas. I distinctly remember hearing Binns mention the goblin rebellions at some point, all right? I panicked."

Harry sighed, wriggling around in a fruitless attempt to achieve some small measure of relief from the ropes. "Fine. If we ever get out of this mess, we'll just have to convince Binns that we're being progressive. Equality of magical creatures and all that." Harry made a mental note to enlist Hermione in their altruistic egalitarian mission.

"I always thought Binns had a thing for goblins," said Malfoy after a moment, voice rather pensive. "Spent so much time talking about them – or at least I think he did."

Harry groaned. "Please, Malfoy. If we're going to be hacked to death, I don't want my last conversation to be about Binns' goblin fixation."

As it turned out, Malfoy was all too ready to move along to his very favourite sort of conversation: complaining. "This is such a stupid way to die," he moaned into the dark room. "I could have been killed by a proper wizard at any point last year – but no, instead I'll be offed by a goblin of all creatures. In an _inn_. It's shameful."

"Enough with the wizard supremacy thing, Malfoy," said Harry, driven to defending his goblin captors through sheer irritation. "Goblins aren't so bad, not really. They just really hate – well – wizards." Harry paused, having quite lost the thread of his own argument.

"Has anyone ever advised you to invest in a brain, Potter?" Malfoy sneered, then cried out as the door slammed open to reveal none other than Urg the Unwanted.

"Harry Potter," cried Urg, every wart and pimple lit by candlelight. "And you," he added as an afterthought, eyeing Malfoy with obvious contempt.

Malfoy sniffed.

"Your fate has been decided, filthy wizard spies. You are to be disembowelled in the village square at dawn."

"Who's he calling filthy?" Malfoy muttered, but Harry was rather more concerned with the second half of Urg's pronouncement.

"Disembowelled?" he yelped, and Urg nodded gleefully, sending bits of twig and yesterday's breakfast flying off into all corners of the room.

"How long have we got?" asked Malfoy faintly, but Harry was facing the windows and could already see a pink haze lighting the building opposite.

"Two minutes," said Urg with an unpleasant grin. "Untie them, Raksnit."


	2. Part the Second

Two minutes later, Harry and Malfoy were standing side by side in the village square in a very impossible situation. Dozens of goblins formed a tight semi-circle around them, the murky village pond completing the barrier. All possible means of escape were blocked.

Between Harry and Malfoy stood Urg the Severely Unmerciful, propped up on a shield supported by two goblins of lesser rank. With a smirk that reached right to his beady black eyes, Urg slung his arms around the boys, a move that threatened to waft Harry into a stench-induced coma.

Malfoy whimpered pitifully.

Harry, on the other hand, was not about to give up and let a mob of stinking goblins extract his vital organs. He'd faced worse than this on a yearly basis since that first cave troll's nostril at Hogwarts. Steeling his jaw and breathing through his mouth, Harry glanced down to the chain around his neck and prepared to engage in some Gryffindor-style recklessness.

"Fellow goblins," cried Urg, his foul breath steaming out into the pre-dawn chill. "We are here to stand up to our oppressors! We are here to claim what is rightfully ours! We are here to extract the innards from these wizards with a variety of blunt instruments, and parade their heads around the village!"

As the goblins roared their hideous approval, Harry moved quickly. Ever since Urg's pronouncement of their doom in the Three Broomsticks, Harry had redoubled his efforts to loosen the rope around his wrists. Now, before Urg could so much as extract his arms from around their necks, Harry wrenched his hands free and grabbed for the Time-Turner, slinging the chain wildly around Malfoy's neck, catching Urg in between.

With a hideous snarl, Urg overbalanced on his shield. Arms wheeling, he tumbled backwards into the pond, pulling Harry and Malfoy in after him. Shouts of alarm came from the goblin audience, and then the sound of running feet.

"How dare you?" Urg spluttered, choking on pond water and the golden chain, but Harry didn't stop to answer. As soon as he could catch a breath, he grabbed for the hourglass pendant and spun it forwards with an almighty flick, sending all three of them careering blindly into the future.

Maintaining his focus through increasing nausea, Harry concentrated hard on Hogwarts, and was distinctly relieved to recognise the Whomping Willow when the world stopped spinning.

"Well, thank Merlin for that," groaned Malfoy, and Harry, in between great gasps of air, slapped him on the back. Urg, knocked out by the time travel, was sprawled across the lawn like the dead, all sodden with pond water and undoubtedly cleaner than he'd ever been in his life.

Against all odds, they were alive. With an enormous huff of relief, Harry collapsed onto the lawn, sucking in lungful after lungful of blessedly fresh air. When his heart had slowed to a normal rate, Harry propped himself up on one elbow.

"So what do we do with him?" he mused, prodding at Urg with a squelchy toe. "Use him for the report now or later?"

Malfoy looked down on Urg with clear disgust. "Later."

Harry shrugged. "We'd better get on with it, then. We've got two more pivotal historical figures to collect before dinner tomorrow." With a bit of a grimace, he extracted the chain from Urg's soot-blackened neck.

"Who's going to watch him while we're gone?" asked Malfoy, screwing up his nose. "No way he's going in my dormitory. He could go in yours; after Longbottom, Urg would probably act like an air-freshening charm."

Harry frowned thoughtfully at Urg's prone figure. Somehow, he didn't think Ron and Hermione would take kindly to yet another goblin companion. With a sudden grin, he clicked his fingers.

"Winky!"

* * *

As he pressed himself into the shadow of the thatch-roofed parsonage, Harry could feel Malfoy's eyes on his face. He wouldn't normally have let this bother him, having ignored such behaviour all year, but the attention suddenly seemed too personal. Like it or not, he and Malfoy had shared something that morning. This didn't make them friends, obviously – but it did make Malfoy's staring _rude_.

"What do you want?" Harry hissed without looking back, peering around the corner into the mediaeval street beyond.

Malfoy stuck his head over Harry's shoulder, surveying the street before condescending to respond. "Nothing, Potter. Only, I thought you lot were into _ending _house-elf exploitation, not landing them with blood-thirsty goblins."

Harry pulled back into the shadow and turned to stare at Malfoy with some incredulity. "First off, Malfoy: why do you care? And secondly, you saw Winky's face. The chance to look after Urg is like winning the house-elf lottery– so much filth to scrub and all that."

Malfoy, somehow managing to look disdainful despite his pond-drenched hair and rumpled robes, leaned haughtily back against the parsonage wall. "And I suppose that's what you'll tell Granger before she does what Urg couldn't, and rips your spleen through your elbows. Without magic."

Harry shuddered, and turned back to the street with more than a twinge of guilt. Still, Winky _had_ looked uncharacteristically animated at the sight of the feculent goblin. Upon waking, Urg had seemed slightly less eager – but a good dose of disciplinary house-elf magic had soon sorted him out.

Focussing back on the scene at hand, Harry motioned Malfoy forward, and the boys crept gingerly along the street-facing wall until they reached the next building along, which looked like it might have been some sort of church. It was hard to tell; everything in the Middle Ages vaguely resembled the Shrieking Shack, but the enormous crucifix above the doorway cleared the matter up somewhat.

"Look over there," said Malfoy suddenly, pointing down the street at what appeared to be the village green, being green and at the centre of the village. "That looks like an appropriate witch-burning area. Is that a stake? It looks like a stake."

Harry craned his neck and beamed at the sight of a row of blackened stakes pricking into the sky. "Excellent," he murmured. "She'll be there sooner or later, won't she?"

As it turned out, Wendelin the Weird was not due to be burnt at the stake (for the thirty-eighth time) until the next morning. Harry and Malfoy, busy staking out the stakes, only became aware of this when the witch herself Apparated directly into their midst.

"Hello, boys," she said with a lascivious grin and a flick of her flame-red hair, and then everything went black.

* * *

It had seemed like such a _good idea_ at the time.

After sending Winky off with an armful of Urg, Harry and Malfoy had sat on the lawn and argued for a good ten minutes about which historical figure to collect next. Malfoy was all for travelling to 18th century France and whisking away a member of the Malfoy noblesse, Scarlet Pimpernel-style.

Harry had been less eager.

"Figures," Malfoy had muttered, picking up a long stick and taking a jab at the Whomping Willow, whose branches were fruitlessly straining towards them. "You won't pick anyone but Dumbledore, will you? Never mind how socially uncomfortable it'd be for me."

At Malfoy's words, Harry was struck with a sudden burst of inspiration. "Right," he had said, digging frantically through his pockets with a grin. "We're going to do what we should have done in the first place."

Malfoy had perked up immediately, dropping the stick at the mercy of the Whomping Willow, eyes glistening with interest. "Steal Granger's history notes?"

"Even better," Harry had promised; and besides, after years of their licentious abuse, Harry and Ron had been summarily barred from all access to Hermione's study materials. It was with a grin that he had offered Malfoy the contents of his pockets.

"Pick a card; any card."

From Harry's deck of Chocolate Frog cards, Malfoy had selected Wendelin the Weird.

Had he possessed a whiff of Divination talent and managed a glimpse of the near future, Harry might have thought twice about letting Fate (and chocolate) direct the course of their history project.

* * *

"Urg," he moaned, waking with a start and a splitting headache. Wishing for death, Harry let himself dangle forward until he was struck by the strange realisation that he appeared to have been sleeping upright. Already regretting the move, he opened his eyes a crack and squinted blearily into pale morning light.

"You dumped him with a house-elf, remember?"

Harry shut his eyes, and didn't think he'd bother opening them again any time soon.

"Malfoy?"

"Yes, Potter?"

"We're about to be burnt at the stake, aren't we?"

"Oh yes."

"Just checking."

After a minute, during which Harry sagged in his ropes and pretended he was back in the comfort and safety of the Three Broomsticks, he sighed and asked another pressing question.

"Why are you wearing a tablecloth?"

There was a notable lack of response from the stake next door. Despite the wretched pounding in his head and the fact that he was about to be burnt alive, Harry found it within himself to have a bit of a snigger at Malfoy's expense.

"Oh, that's it," he said finally, feeling a great deal cheered. "She pinched your clothes while you were in that bath, didn't she?"

"Bloody _weird_ if you ask me," Malfoy muttered darkly, making no effort to deny Harry's summation of the events.

"Well, Wendelin would be, wouldn't she?"

Malfoy turned his neck sharply and glared. If looks could kill, Harry would have gone up in flames a little earlier than planned. "You do realise this is all your fault, Potter, don't you? If you hadn't gone and drunk half the mead in the Middle Ages, you might've been able to stop that – that _witch_ from – from –"

"Touching you up?" Harry suggested, and snorted through his nose. His headache had almost disappeared; really, he couldn't have had all that much to drink if that was the extent of the hangover. In fact, he couldn't remember taking more than a sip of the stuff – and then he'd only tried it so as not to offend their convivial hostess.

Rather too convivial in Malfoy's case, it seemed. He actually growled at Harry's words, which only served to make Harry chuckle harder.

"Weren't laughing last night, were you, Potter?"

"I wasn't?" Harry paused and trawled through recent memories for the hilarity that must have ensued upon first sight of Malfoy's costume. An image of a yelling, linen-sheathed Malfoy popped to mind – Harry grinned hugely – but strangely, he couldn't quite remember finding it amusing at the time. To tell the truth, he couldn't seem to recollect a large part of the previous night's events.

Wendelin had stunned them as they were watching the village green; that, Harry remembered. And then she must have dragged them away to her little one-roomed hut before casting the counter-curse. Harry could clearly recall waking on the hard earth floor and pulling his wand on the witch; Malfoy had taken a different tack, using the distraction to scuttle towards the door.

Before either could get very far with their efforts, Wendelin had held up her hands and explained that two such obvious wizards had needed to be removed from the sight of the Inquisition. She had seemed so repentant that Harry had felt quite ashamed. She'd even offered Malfoy a bath to rinse the pond scum from his hair. Malfoy, rather rashly, as it turned out, had accepted – but after that, the details blurred in Harry's mind.

From what Malfoy had said, and from the general toilet-floor taste in his mouth, Harry surmised that he must have (equally rashly) accepted a drink. Or five.

"So, er," he began, rather keen to drop the topic of the previous night's mysterious events; Malfoy's words had made him distinctly uneasy. "Burnt at the stake, eh? Not a very dignified way to go." After all, wasn't witch-burning something that happened to, well, _witches_? These Inquisitorial Muggles were hard-hearted indeed.

Malfoy, who had let his head loll back against his tall wooden post, released a rude sort of snort. "We wouldn't even be in this mess if it wasn't for your mad attack of jealousy, Potter."

Harry started at the insinuation. "Jealous? I wasn't jealous! Was I?" He stared at Malfoy with some incredulity. "Why on earth would I be jealous of you?"

"Not of _me_," said Malfoy, glaring forward into the village as his cheeks turned red. "Of Wendelin, you pervy twat. You kept swatting at her hands and yelling, 'Back off, he's mine!'"

Blurry memories took some shape at Malfoy's words, but Harry, flushing hotly, shook them from his mind. He stood a little straighter against his stake and cleared his throat. "I was hardly jealous of Wendelin, was I?" _Was_ he? "I must have been trying to protect you. Obviously. She's clearly barking, fancying you."

Honestly, the _very idea_ of it – jealous over Malfoy? What nonsense. He _hated_ the slimy sleek-haired ponce. Malfoy must have got the wrong end of the stick somewhere – probably while fleeing Wendelin's busy hands.

Meanwhile, Malfoy was leaning forward in his bindings and giving Harry an infuriatingly knowing look. "Protecting me from the wicked witch, were you? You big, brave Gryffindor, you. Saved me from certain death, you did." He shook pointedly at his ropes, nodding to the flaming torches in the surrounding crowd.

"Wouldn't be the first time," Harry snapped, and Malfoy shut up immediately. Irritated, embarrassed, and already regretting his words, Harry knocked his head none too gently against the post.

"Well, look, at least you won't die completely starkers," said Harry in an attempt to ease the tension that had settled between their posts. He glanced sideways at Malfoy to see if he looked mollified, and couldn't help snorting anew at the sight of the makeshift tablecloth robes flapping in the breeze.

"Oh, shut up," Malfoy growled through gritted teeth, and Harry was forced to choke down his laughter and face his approaching death with a straight face.

"Hey, Malfoy?" he said finally, as the head of the witch-burning assembly came and thrust his torch into the bales of straw beneath them.

"What?"

"How did we end up getting burnt at the stake as witches?"

Malfoy sighed a long, drawn out sort of sigh. "Well, Potter, after you challenged Wendelin to an impromptu duel for my honour, you charged out into the village square and roused the peasantry to judge the fight. You used the words 'magic', 'witch' and pointed at me a lot. It somehow seemed to work against us at the trial."

"Oh," said Harry, which didn't seem to be much of a response, but it was all he had. As flames flickered up through the straw bales, less malevolent than Fiendfyre but just as deadly, Harry made a hasty vow to never drink again.

He turned to Malfoy, who had gone quite pale amid the smoke and dancing light, and raised a sheepish shoulder. "Sorry about that."

"Now, now, was that really so difficult?" sprung a new voice from behind, and Harry flung himself about in his bindings until he could peer around.

"_Wendelin_?" he coughed with great incredulity. "You were standing behind me this whole time?"

"Sorry, Harry," she said with a throaty giggle; "I've been a bit tied up, you see."

Feeling like he'd been punished quite enough for the foolish endeavours of the night before, Harry turned back around and shook his head. "How in Merlin's name did _she_ end up on a Chocolate Frog card?" he muttered, and Malfoy shrugged.

"On the count of three, boys," Wendelin said loudly with laughter still in her voice. "One – two," – Harry and Malfoy looked at each other – "Three!"

A piercing shriek erupted from Wendelin's stake, and Harry, seeing no viable alternative, joined in with a shout. His feet were getting uncomfortably hot, and he hadn't had a very good morning, and on top of everything, he was sure to fail his stupid, bloody history assignment for stupid, bloody Binns, and all the trauma of the last two days would have been for nothing.

Malfoy stayed quiet, or might have muttered something that sounded a bit like a Flame-Freezing Charm, and suddenly the flames at Harry's feet began to tickle instead of burn.

"Keep screaming!" screamed Wendelin, and Harry complied. After all, the batty old witch had had a lot of experience at this by all accounts.

"The fire's burnt my ropes away!" he yelled hoarsely at the smoke-cloud that resembled Malfoy.

"It's burning my sodding tablecloth away!" Malfoy hollered back, and Harry couldn't help it – he erupted into a fresh stream of laughter.

"Shut up and use the Time-Turner!" Malfoy shouted, sounding entirely unamused, and Harry bit his lip and pulled out the hourglass.

"Are we taking the she-devil?" he called, jabbing a thumb over his back in Wendelin's general direction. Malfoy nodded, so Harry sighed and threaded the chain around each of their necks.

"Picture Hogwarts," he said, trying not to squirm about as the flames tickled mercilessly at his belly. "Allons-y!"

* * *

Hermione had been even less amused than Harry had expected.

Ron, at least, had had the good sense of humour to snicker at Malfoy's surprising lack of clothing when he darted through the portrait hole. And then his mouth had fallen open at the sight of Wendelin's threadbare, fall-away robes, and Hermione had been less amused still.

"Er," Harry had explained, raising his soot-blackened hands and gazing pleadingly at Hermione's stony face. "You do want me to be an Auror, don't you?"

"Illegal use of a Time-Turner," Hermione had fumed, jerking one furious hand at Wendelin (who was busy making coy glances towards Malfoy's lack of tablecloth; Harry felt a strange flame of anger in his stomach). "Cheating in a history project. _Destroying the past_–"

"Well, that's not really fair, is it?" Malfoy had interrupted with a scowl, peering up from behind the shelter of a convenient armchair. "We haven't destroyed anything – I don't think."

Harry had crossed his arms and joined Malfoy at the armchair. "Yeah, Hermione. And we're going to put them back," he said – quite reasonably, he thought.

"_Them_?"

Ron had just gaped, and then shook his head with a grin. "Bloody brilliant," he'd enthused, clapping Harry on the back and shooting Malfoy daggers. "Shame you have to do it with him."

"Shame you have to be alive, Weasley," Malfoy had spat, but Harry had hastily intervened; if there was any chance he was going to convince Ron and Hermione to watch Wendelin, he couldn't have Malfoy being a tit.

It had been surprisingly easy to secure Ron's consent – or perhaps unsurprising, given Wendelin's flirtatious handiwork. Hermione had taken off to her dormitory in a huff, but Ron had assured them that she'd get over it.

"She's a jealous one," he'd said with a fond smile in Hermione's direction, and Harry had dragged Malfoy away before he could do more than open his mouth. Somehow, Harry didn't think Ron would be too pleased with Malfoy's version of the previous night's events.

"Don't let her give you a bath!" Malfoy had called over his shoulder as Harry shoved him out of Gryffindor Tower. Malfoy was now clothed in a pair of second-hand trousers and a Weasley jumper; privately, Harry thought that Wendelin's linen cloth had suited him rather better.

Now they stood back at the back of the Entrance Hall, examining the rest of Harry's Chocolate Frog card collection.

"It has to be Merlin," said Malfoy, pointing to the famous wizard blinking solemnly up from the card. "If anyone's pivotal in wizarding history, it's him, isn't it? He's the most popular wizard in the Chocolate Frog business; I must have got his card three times out of five."

Harry nodded, stepped closer to Malfoy and looped the Time-Turner around his neck. "This is it, then," he said with a sigh of utmost relief. "One more trip and we're done, and they can't kick us out."

"Think Merlin," said Malfoy the second before Harry could say the words, and they grinned at each other for a brief moment before looking away and clearing their throats.

Without another word, Harry delivered a perfunctory flick to the hourglass pendant, and away they whooshed through time and relative dimensions in space.


	3. Part the Third

They popped back into reality without warning, all tangled up in arms and legs and golden chain. Malfoy shoved Harry off his chest – "Geroff!" – and Harry was choked half to death on the other end of the chain.

"There has to be a better way of doing this," he said grumpily, rubbing at his neck and glaring at Malfoy. He clambered to his feet and surveyed the Arthurian landscape. Ancient as it was, it put Harry strongly in mind of the Hogwarts grounds. The dodgy little shack sloped off at the side could have been Hagrid's hut, all camped out at the edge of some enchanted woods.

Harry prodded Malfoy with the tip of his trainer and nodded towards the wonky shack. "Reckon that's where he lives?"

"No," answered a quavering voice that did not belong to Malfoy – instead, it belonged to the crooked old man who had shuffled up behind them unseen. "He can't live there. That's my house."

Harry and Malfoy exchanged startled looks.

"Merlin?" Harry tried.

The old man looked over his shoulder with a start. "Oh, you mean me?" he said after a puzzled moment, and then his face broke into a toothless smile. "Yes, I'm Merlin." He placed his wizened hands on his hips and stuck out one bare, bony leg with obvious pride.

Harry was beginning to get the impression that Merlin, quite unlike the Dumbledore-like hero he'd imagined, was a loony old codger.

"Reminds me of Dumbledore," Malfoy muttered from the side of his mouth, and Harry tensed up, ready to defend his idol, but Merlin had already started dancing towards his hut, swinging a basket of assorted leaves and singing, "Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak!"

Perhaps Dumbledore was more like Merlin than Harry had imagined.

"So how do we get him to come with us?" Harry murmured as they followed Merlin across the gently sloping grass to his shack. The most famous wizard in all of magical history stopped outside the battered wooden door and began palming down his robes as if hunting for keys. From a safe distance, Malfoy took out his wand and cast a whispered '_Alohomora_', and Merlin screeched as the door popped open. Glaring at the doorframe with much suspicion, Merlin edged in sideways and came out a moment later, cauldron in hand.

As Harry and Malfoy watched, Merlin ran about between basket, hut and cauldron, plucking out bits of vegetation and tossing handfuls into his blackened brass pot. He lit a fire the Muggle way, to Malfoy's great surprise.

Without pausing for a break, Merlin panted his way up to them, swiping his long, dirty beard over his shoulder and out of the way. "Either of you boys have any royal blood in you?" he asked shortly, pushing Malfoy to the side and taking Harry's right bicep in a surprisingly strong grasp.

"Er, no," said Harry apologetically. He stood and waited as Merlin prodded at his muscles, feeling new sympathy for Malfoy and his unwanted groping at the hands of Wendelin the Weird.

Merlin pulled back with a slight frown. "Do you have a sword?"

Harry shook his head slowly.

"Want one?"

"Would I have to pull it from a stone?" Harry asked, suddenly foreseeing the course of Merlin's investigation. As the mystical nutter nodded, Malfoy grabbed Harry by the arm and pulled him out of Merlin's grasp.

"Waste of time," he hissed. "Let's leg it, shall we?"

"Jealous?" asked Harry, grinning, and Malfoy released him with a scowl.

"Merlin, sir," Malfoy started in formal tones, his pureblood upbringing clearly preventing him from treating Merlin with anything less than a semblance of respect. "I am afraid that we must be leaving you to your – erm –" he peered out at the dubious substance bubbling away in the little cauldron and paused.

"Soup," Merlin supplied, nodding away with a dignified frown, just as formal as Malfoy but for his bare legs.

"Soup," Malfoy repeated, eyes widening helplessly. "So we'll just be off, then."

Merlin, who had been stroking his beard throughout Malfoy's speech, jerked up with a start as Harry and Malfoy began backing away from the shack. He yelped with pain as he yanked at his own beard, and unravelling his fingers with a grimace, he called out after the boys. "Wait! There is something I must give you, time travellers from the distant future!"

Harry stopped, and put out an arm to stop Malfoy as well. "Could be useful for the project," he said with a shrug, inwardly hoping that Merlin would give them a piece of wisdom and not just another bout of groping.

Merlin loped across the lawn towards them, having ducked inside his hut to collect some unknown quality. He paused before the boys, one hand behind his back.

"If you remember nothing else of me and my life's work," he began in portentous tone, causing Harry to shuffle about guiltily and finger the Chocolate Frog card in his pocket, "I trust you will remember this." With a fond smile, Merlin looked from Malfoy to Harry and back again.

"Be excellent to each other."

"Can we go now?" Malfoy whined, and heaved a sigh of relief when Harry gave him a subtle nod. "Thank Merlin." He jumped as Harry delivered an elbow to his Weasley jumper-covered ribs. "Er, yes. Thank Merlin, Harry."

"Thank you," said Harry, bowing his head in acknowledgement of the barmy geezer, and reached out a hand to take Merlin's – but instead of shaking his hand, Merlin stuffed a bundle of material into his palm and frolicked off down the hill, cackling madly.

"What is it?" Malfoy asked with mild curiosity, and leapt back when Harry unfolded the bundle to reveal a pair of frilly pink knickers. "Merlin's pants!" he said, all huge grey eyes and awed disgust. "I'll never be able to swear again."

With a shudder, Harry stuffed the delicate undergarments into his pocket and took out the Time-Turner with all haste. They hadn't managed to rope Merlin into coming along for their history project, but Harry had a strong feeling that this was for the best. The modern wizarding world simply wasn't ready for a visit from their most celebrated hero.

When they arrived back in the Entrance Hall and narrowly avoided being knocked to the ground by a barrage of hungry first-years, Malfoy turned to Harry and spoke over the noise.

"You know," he said rather tentatively, glancing halfway to Harry's face and then back at the floor. "I think that was the most horrifying thing we faced throughout our time-travelling adventure."

"What about Urg?" Harry asked as they padded slowly up the stairs, away from the flood of students. He'd barely even felt the nausea this last time-travelling trip – but at the thought of the goblin and his infamous stench, his stomach turned.

"He had a sense of humour."

"And Wendelin?"

Malfoy shrugged. "She wasn't so bad." He quailed under Harry's glare. (He was _not_ jealous.) "Not that I liked her or anything."

"What time is it?" Harry growled, put out of sorts by the path of the conversation. "The project's due at five o'clock this afternoon, you know."

Malfoy glanced down at his pocket watch and gasped in alarm. "It's quarter past!" he cried out, and the two boys started running headlong down the corridor towards the History of Magic classroom.

"We need Urg, and Wendelin!" Harry panted, and screeched to a halt when Hermione stepped out into the corridor with a rather smug look on her face.

"Looking for someone?" she said coolly, examining her nails in an entirely uncharacteristic fashion.

"Hermione Granger, I will act as your slave and never call you the 'M' word for as long as we both shall live if you _just give us the historical figures and let me get my fortune_!" Malfoy cried, flinging himself down at Hermione's feet and causing another ripple of not-jealousy in the bottom of Harry's stomach.

Hermione, who looked quite taken aback, clicked her fingers, somehow causing Ron and Wendelin to appear from around the corner of the corridor.

"She wouldn't let us come out, Harry," Ron explained, all out of breath as he physically held Wendelin from advancing on a cowering Malfoy. "Said she had to teach you a lesson, but I think she's just angry you're trying to cheat–"

"Shut it, Ronald," hissed Hermione, but Harry came forward with an apologetic smile and patted her arm.

"You know I wouldn't do it if there was another way," he said soothingly. "Peeves wrecked all the history books in the library; so you see, we really had no choice."

"Peeves!" Ron gasped, suddenly outraged. "He stole my bottle of–"

"Contagious Ink," Harry and Malfoy finished simultaneously, and exchanged a significant look.

With a cough, Harry shook his head and pointed at Wendelin, who preened in the attention. "We need to get her to Binns, or we'll fail this stupid project! Any idea where the goblin's got to?"

Hermione sniffed. "Yes, the Society for the Prevention of Elvish Welfare mentioned something about a goblin," she said, glaring pointedly at Harry, who shuffled his feet in discomfort and avoided her eyes. "Unfortunately for you, Winky's gone and manacled him to one of the taps in the Prefects' Bathroom."

Harry flung up his arms and swore, carefully avoiding the use of the phrase, 'Merlin's frilly pink knickers'. "We'll just have to go with Wendelin alone and try and convince him we deserve to pass," he said desperately, pulling at Malfoy's sleeve. "Come on, we're already twenty minutes late!"

They barrelled their way into the History of Magic classroom with Wendelin in tow, slamming through the door and sliding to a halt at the foot of Binns' desk.

"Sorry we're late, Professor," Harry wheezed, taking Wendelin's arm and motioning for Malfoy to grab the other. "We were – er – finalising our conclusions for the project. Got caught up in a historical debate. Sorry."

Binns, as ancient and shrivelled and unimpressed as ever, nodded slowly. "And what were they, these conclusions?" As he spoke, his pearly grey eyes widened on closer examination of Wendelin, who was pouting and primping and fussing about between the boys.

Harry threw a panicked glance at Malfoy. "We, er, learnt," he began, thinking quickly, "that history is – is –"

"An amazing and exhilarating study," interrupted Malfoy, releasing Wendelin in favour of delivering a sharp flick to Harry's side. "Really something no young wizarding scholar can do without."

Binns nodded absently, his attention clearly focussed elsewhere. "Good, boys, very good," he murmured as Wendelin approached his desk with a coy eye and a flick of her flame-red hair. "That's all I ever wanted."

Harry and Malfoy watched, open-mouthed, as Wendelin winked at their History of Magic professor, jerking her head towards the door in a most unmistakable – and unthinkable – fashion. Binns coughed, rising from his seat and through his desk, and trailed away after Wendelin like a lost puppy.

"Our marks, Professor?" Harry yelled desperately as Binns floated off through the doorway, and a distinct – though dazed – voice called back.

"You've quite exceeded my expectations, boys."

Harry gave a whoop the likes of which had never before been seen in the History of Magic classroom; Malfoy stood quite still, obviously stunned.

"We did it!" Harry cried, grabbing Malfoy's hands and pulling him into an impromptu jig. As they stumbled about, upsetting desks and chairs and all propriety, Malfoy's face suddenly split into an ear-to-ear grin, and Harry threw his head back and laughed.

"I won't be disinherited," Malfoy said, a touch of awe still clear in his voice. "I'm rich, Potter. Extremely, severely rich."

"Just as a Malfoy should be, I suppose," said Harry with much rolling of the eyes. "And I'll be employed within a month."

"Or at least until they work out you know nothing at all about history," retorted Malfoy, prompting Harry to spin him into the path of Binn's desk. Malfoy stumbled and complained, but clearly accepted this piece of retaliation with good grace.

Having released Malfoy, Harry walked over and joined his old arch nemesis at the desk, leaning back and crossing his arms in companionable silence.

"We did it, you know," he said finally, nudging Malfoy in the shoulder and eliciting a smile. "You and me. We didn't even ruin history – much. I think that really does exceed expectations."

Malfoy nodded slowly. "There's one thing that puzzles me," he said with a brief frown at the chain around Harry's neck. "Who sent us the Time-Turner? And why?"

Harry sat back and thought about this for a moment – then, with an enormous grin, he clicked his fingers. "We did," he said with some pride. "We'll do it right now, in fact – or after we've convinced Winky to give up Urg, and Binns to give up Wendelin, and delivered them back to their own times. Then all we'll have to do is go back in time to yesterday and owl that parcel to ourselves. Simple."

"Simple," Malfoy echoed, clearly unimpressed, "except for the little fact that it's _impossible and makes no sense_."

Harry raised an eyebrow and grinned. "Says who?"

Malfoy slumped back and shook his head dazedly. "So that's it then? We'll just complete a series of nonsensical tasks and then we'll be done with the whole business?"

"And then we'll just have to avoid Madam Pince for the rest of our lives, and we're home free," Harry said happily, already looping the golden chain around Malfoy's neck. "Now shut up, or I'll set Merlin's knickers on you."

"You would, you pervy prat," muttered Malfoy, but he grinned back at Harry as they spun away through time and space on another excellent adventure.

**THE END**

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**A/N: And there ends the tale! I seriously enjoyed writing this one, and I hope it was fun to read. Please REVIEW - then party on, dudes!**

**x Froody**


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